


Homecoming

by c000kiesandcream



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Related, Depression, M/M, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c000kiesandcream/pseuds/c000kiesandcream
Summary: After his abysmal performance at the Grand Prix final, Victor just fell deeper. His jumps only had a 30% accuracy both in competition and practice, and his scores were the lowest of his career. Yakov tried everything he could think of, from tough love to late night encouragement, but Victor couldn’t shake his bad streak.They returned to Russia in the spring; Victor had avoided the rink and his national team in the first three weeks after they arrived. His phone was permanently off, and he spent all his time walking his beloved dog, Yukachin, before sitting alone in his empty apartment. All his energy for the last five years has been focussed on being the best figure skater in the world, to have the chance to skate on the same ice as Yuuri Katsuki as a genuine rival, a force to be reckoned with.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of a [reverse AU](http://yoireverse.tumblr.com) is amazing, and I just can't help myself.  
> Much of the description of Victor's depression comes from a combination of personal experience and stories from my best friend, and it is just an interpretation. It is by no means definitive of how depression feels for everyone, but if something doesn't ring true for you, please do not hesitate to tell me either via a comment here or [ anonymously through my tumblr here!](https://c000kiesandcream.tumblr.com)  
> Enjoy!

‘And now, skating his world record smashing Free Program, earning him his fifth consecutive gold medal at the Grand Prix, please welcome Yuuri Katsuki!’

The crowd erupted, cheering, stamping, lifting the roof with their excitement. Metal blades cut the ice, the harsh sounds only heard by the man making them.

Yuuri Katsuki was currently the world champion in figure skating, but something didn’t feel quite right. And this Free Program had been his latest attempt to inspire the same passion he had felt when he started competing eleven years ago. He had dominated the junior division, stumbling slightly when he qualified as a senior, but winning gold within two years of his debut. The second he stepped on the ice, everything faded away. His anxiety, the crowds, it all melted into silence in the sacred moment before the music started. His heart was always pounding before a competitive skate, adrenaline coursing through his veins. However, in recent years, and especially this season, Yuuri was missing something. He wanted  _more_  than just gold.

The music started, and Yuuri looked up. The lights were dazzling, but without his glasses, the colours blended into nothing. A deep breath escaped his lips, frustration tingling along his skin as he skated the programme that had cinched his latest gold medal. He prayed that this was only obvious to him, as he stretched out his arms, gliding across the ice, throwing himself into a triple toe loop, commanding a cheer from the crowd.

How predictable.

What he couldn’t see, what Yuuri had failed to sense in the crowd, was Victor Nikiforov, eyes glued to the form that floated across the ice, mesmerised by the form that so gracefully cast himself into the air before tilting his head back, eyes closed in the motion. The indifference he had felt after placing last this year dissolved as he watched Yuuri skating.

‘Victor, let’s go,’ Yakov barked, pulling up the young skater by his jacket sleeves. ‘We have a lot to discuss before the banquet later.’

Victor rolled his eyes, pushing himself out of his seat. Snatching one last glance at Yuuri as he was lead down the stairs, Victor sighed. He was not looking forward to Yakov’s lecture.

* * *

The Grand Prix Banquet took place every year after the competition. Usually, the skaters drank a little too much champagne, just enough to forget that they would be competing against each other again in a few weeks’ time so that they could enjoy some down time. Sponsors usually hung around, trying to engage with them, but the coaches distracted them, allowing the skaters just one night away from their sport.

The dinner had only just finished, so the crowd hung awkwardly along the edges of the dance floor, sipping their glasses and marvelling at the beautiful hall. Victor was stood with the rest of the Russian team, pouting slightly as he quickly drank his third glass.

‘Victor,’ Yakov hissed. He always called him by his actual name when he was mad at the young skater. Victor blinked at him, before snatching another glass from the tray that floated past them. ‘Do not embarrass me.’

‘Oh, Yakov, you only brought me because you thought I was  _upset_ ,’ Victor pouted, drinking almost half his glass in on gulp. His rink mate Yuri just stared.

‘You ruined my shirt by sobbing for a solid 15 minutes, asshole,’ the teenager grumbled, sipping the single glass of champagne he was allowed. His nose wrinkled at the taste, before he placed it down behind him. Victor noticed, and quickly drank it before anyone could argue.

Across the room, Yuuri was surrounded by the other older skaters, laughing and sipping his champagne carefully. Victor watched as Yuuri smiled, nodding his head at his rink mate Phichit’s phone, before being pulled into a selfie with him. Victor wished he was that close to Yuuri. He sighed again, and Yuri shoved him.

‘Gross, stop  _staring_ ,’ he ordered, folding his arms and hiding behind his hair.

Victor finished what was his fifth drink, before walking the floor to meet his best skater friend, Christophe Giacommetti.

He was going have fun tonight, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

After his abysmal performance at the Grand Prix final, Victor just fell deeper. His jumps only had a 30% accuracy both in competition and practice, and his scores were the lowest of his career. Yakov tried everything he could think of, from tough love to late night encouragement, but Victor couldn’t shake his bad streak.

They returned to Russia in the spring; Victor had avoided the rink and his national team in the first three weeks after they arrived. His phone was permanently off, and he spent all his time walking his beloved dog, Yukachin, before sitting alone in his empty apartment. All his energy for the last five years has been focussed on being the best figure skater in the world, to have the chance to skate on the same ice as Yuuri Katsuki as a genuine rival, a force to be reckoned with.

Instead, he had failed to build a life for himself outside of crafting the perfect program, and in his fifth senior year his career had plummeted. Try as he might, he could not push past the wall that had thrown itself up when he came last at the Grand Prix Final. And while he knew it was ridiculous, it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t enough to just keep telling himself that he was a good skater.

On the third Thursday after returning home, Victor found himself staring down at the sink in the cool light of his bathroom, clutching the blunt scissors in his hand. His trademark, beautiful silver hair hung down to his waist, but tonight he had hacked away clumsily, grabbing handfuls and blindly chopping. And he felt nothing. Yukachin padded into the bathroom and leaned against his owner’s legs. Victor’s eyes were a vibrant blue, but in the grey of his apartment, in this windowless bathroom, they seemed dull.

After lying in bed for a couple of hours, and deciding he had given up on the hopes of sleeping tonight, Victor skulked into his living room, lying on the couch. On his TV, he pulled up his recording of Yuuri’s Grand Prix final performance, pulling a blanket around his shoulders while he stared at the screen. All he wanted, all his life, was to prove himself to his idol. This season, he had pushed himself as far as he knew how to, but something was  _missing_. He had memorised Yuuri’s Free Program, the music had been on his iPod since Phichit uploaded a video of Yuuri’s jump training to Snapchat last summer. Victor spoke over the commentary, talking through the step sequence, the combination jumps, the points that Yuuri had scored with them. An itch chased along his spine, his limbs begging to be stretched into the positions he watched on the screen.

He paused, looking down at Yukachin, who whined, eyes wide in concern at his owner.

‘You’re right. It’s time,’ Victor whispered, kissing the soft fur on his head, before jumping up.

He needed to feel the ice again.

* * *

Yuuri sighs into his empty apartment. He is scrolling through his phone, ignoring the emails from sponsors and Celestino and anyone else who wants a piece of him. Since the end of the season, and his third gold medal this year, he had felt restless. He never dreamed that he would be where he was right now. He moved from his hometown when he was 16, after outgrowing Hasetsu’s small rink, he had been head-hunted by a coach in Austria, with whom he climbed the ranks to become the Junior world champion. After he broke out in the senior division, he transferred to Detroit, where he met his current coach Celestino Cialdini. They had worked together ever since, and Yuuri loved his rigid, supportive approach to coaching. Even when Yuuri suggested choreographing his own programs, Celestino worked with him, day and night, explaining how he himself constructed his skater’s programs.

It wasn’t his coaches fault that he was so uninspired. He just wasn’t sure exactly where he could go after this season. There was no higher competition that he could prove himself in, no greater value medal he could achieve. His earnings and winnings sat in a savings account, accumulating interest. Money didn’t interest Yuuri. What he needed was a new challenge, a new inspiration.

A text flashed on his screen, obscuring his view of the article he wasn’t really reading. It was from Yuuko Nishigori, an old friend from Japan. He opened it to find it was just a link, so he tapped on it dubiously. The last lone link he had clicked on was from Phichit, who had to spend half an hour explaining why the video was funny.

The video showed an ice rink, one he didn’t recognise. The characters on the advertisements that lined the walls were Russian, and in the centre of the screen stood a man. He was tall, slender, and his short silver hair poked out clumsily from beneath a black hat. The music started; someone had edited the video to improve the sound quality. The young man started skating, arms out, skating Yuuri’s Free Program from last season. And it was  _perfect_. Whoever he was, he had clearly watched the performance and learned it step by step, and he didn’t falter once. Even when the sequence lead to a triple salchow followed by a quadruple toe-loop.

Yuuri watched the video with wide eyes, sitting up more properly as his eyes scanned the screen. The Russian skater who had danced with him at the banquet. Yuuri’s ears grew hot with the memory. The young, drunk skater had draped himself all over Yuuri after drinking three bottles of champagne to himself, and challenging both the surly Russian teenager  _and_ Chris Giacometti to two separate dance offs. Victor had even lead Yuuri in a ballroom waltz; it was the best Grand Prix Banquet Yuuri had ever attended. He looked different now he had cut his hair.

After watching the video three times, he sent it to Phichit, who immediately read the message. Yuuri held his breath while he waited, picturing his friend’s face while he watched. Suddenly, the bubbles that signified an incoming messaged popped up on the screen. Yuuri watched, until Phichit finally clicked send.

_Wow. Victor Nikiforov, his season didn’t go too well, there’s talk of him retiring._

Yuuri’s heart sank. How could such a talented skater even  _think_  of retiring? His heart jumped, and he felt a fire in the pit of his stomach that he hadn’t felt in weeks,  _years_. Before he thought too much into it, he bought himself a one-way ticket to Saint Petersburg.

He’d found his spark.

* * *

‘Mila, oh my  _god_ , I can’t believe you would do that to me!’ Victor was face down in the changing room, his voice muffled because he spoke into his arms, protecting his face from both the hard wood of the bench and the eyes of the other skaters in the room. Georgi placed a hand on his shoulder as a comfort. It did not work.

‘I didn’t think it would go  _viral_  literally overnight,’ Mila laughed, rolling her eyes as she laced her skates. ‘And besides, it was Yuri who suggested I-’

‘Leave me out of this, you hag!’ Yuri yelled, charging at her so she fell off the bench.

‘ _Hey_!’ she yelped in pain, laughing as the teenager spat a torrent of abuse at her.

‘Well, I just, I can’t believe you would  _do_ that. It was private, and I do appreciate  _some_ level of privacy,’ Victor rolled onto his back, blinking at the fluorescent lights.

‘Enough,’ Yakov snapped, slamming his hand against the locker. ‘Vitya, you  _will_  stop whining this  _instant_. Yuri, Mila, up, now.’ The skaters scrambled to line themselves up in front of their coach, poised and ready for practice to start.

Yakov led his team out onto the ice, allowing them one by one to glide out into the open space. He allowed them 15 minutes to free skate, stretch, jump, and goof around before calling them in one by one for a brief of their practice.

Victor had the easiest practice brief, to work through jumps until he could land them with complete accuracy. The other skaters had started their short program preparations while Victor had been missing in action. Today was the first time that Victor had appeared at the rink in the day time. Yakov was unsure of how to handle this latest development in Victor’s mental state. He did spend the first few days with Victor, making sure he had the medication he needed, but after the first week of trying to fully understand the young skater’s health, he simply couldn’t abandon the rest of his team. He watched with careful eyes, only briefly glancing at his other skaters over the course of the morning.

After a few hours, the skaters called for lunch in unison. Yakov nodded, beckoning them off the ice. They decided to leave the rink for food, wandering down the street and into the closest café they could find.

‘So, Vitya, have you heard?’ Mila raised her eyebrows and nudged Victor, her elbow coming just above his hip bone. He shook his head.

‘I have not,’ he replied, carefully opening his drink as they paid. He took a swig, following his team to the nearest table wait for their food.

‘Well, word on the web is that Yuuri Katsuki  _himself_  watched your video,’ she leaned forward, eyes glittering with pride. ‘He loved it, and he is currently on his way to Saint Petersburg to become your  _coach_.’

Victor dropped his bottle. Yuri didn’t look up from his phone, but a tut escaped his lips.

‘You’re joking,’ he stared, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘Um, hello? It’s  _everywhere_ ,’ Mila urged, scrolling through her own phone now for evidence.

It was true. Every major figure skating publication, every online journal that featured any kind of sports news, and almost all of their mutual competitors had shared an article speculating about Yuuri Katsuki’s retirement and last minute emigration to Russia. Victor flushed, scrolling in disbelief through Mila’s timeline.

‘How have you  _missed_ this?’ she laughed, waving at the cashier who had served them to signal where they were. Food was placed in front of them, but only Mila and Georgi started to eat right away.

Victor decided to skip the rest of practice, instead opting to walk back to his apartment. This isn’t what he wanted. He wasn’t entirely sure of what he wanted, but in his mind, he was sure his figure skating career was over. Since his return to Saint Petersburg, realistically since his failure at the Grand Prix final, Victor had tried to prove that he wasn’t being crushed under the weight of being himself. So far he couldn’t even convince himself. He was sure Yakov suspected that he was relapsing, falling into the same pattern he was stuck in when he had first qualified in the senior division. He had even dragged Victor to the doctor’s and personally paid for his anti-depressants in an attempt to bring him back. They were still sitting in his bathroom cabinet, unopened. Perhaps now was the time to pull them out; Victor was all out of other options. He was exhausted, and it became harder and harder to drag himself up the steps to his apartment. Eventually he reached his floor. Victor was rummaging in his pocket for his keys. He looked up, and gasped.

Snoozing in his doorway was Yuuri Katsuki.

* * *

A month had passed since Yuuri had turned up in Saint Petersburg, and Victor’s life had been turned upside down. Victor was surprised to find that when he told Yakov of his plans, his initial reaction was not to scream at him. Of course, the screaming came later, but Yakov knew there was nothing he could do to change Victor’s mind. Yakov was certain that this spelled the end of his career, but deep down he knew that Victor needed something more than success to pull him from his slump.

For the first week, they stayed in Saint Petersburg, practising at Victor’s home rink in the day, and sharing Victor’s tiny apartment of a night. Before Yuuri, Victor hadn’t realised just how small his apartment really was. It was a week before Yuuri came across the anti-depressants in the cabinet, and another 4 days after that before he asked about them.

There was no answer; the question hung in the air awkwardly. The concern in Yuuri’s voice stirred something deep in the pit of Victor’s stomach, and suddenly he was crying. It didn’t feel like crying, because while the tears came thick and fast, there wasn’t a single sound that escaped his lips. Yuuri shuffled closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder gingerly, unsure of how to handle this situation. After a lengthy conversation, and a promise from Victor that he would start taking his medication properly, the terms of Yuuri’s coaching were decided. Victor fell asleep in Yuuri’s arms that night, tears still escaping his eyes occasionally when he stirred.

After that night, it got easier. Yuuri had a deeper understanding of the inner workings of Victor Nikiforov, and after a lengthy research session while Victor practiced the step sequence of his short program, Yuuri knew they needed to escape. He booked them both tickets to Japan, snapping his laptop shut, before watching Victor move across the ice.

Yuuri could feel the younger skater pulling him in, something in him drawn to the fluid movement of his limbs, his hands, his steely blue eyes. There was a connection that ran far deeper than the intimate relationship of a coach and his student, but it would be months before either of them realised the true extent of this attraction.

 


End file.
